


I Just Want To Learn How To Somehow Be Loved Myself

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [34]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Affection, Awkward Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley is Affection Starved, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Sweet, Tenderness, aziraphale says i love you and crowley loses it, he runs into a fucking light pole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 07:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Sometimes when Crowley looked at Aziraphale, it felt like the world was shifting on its axis.Sometimes the angel would smile in Crowley’s direction or run his fingers through the demon’s hair or kiss his cheek or something, and the world would tilt sideways, spinning around him like one of those godforsaken carnival rides, and leave Crowley dizzy and stumbling.Because Aziraphale loved him. Loved him. Like—really. Crowley. Him specifically, not the sort of holier-than-thou love for all living things bullshit that angels usually spouted.Aziraphale loved Crowley.Crowley knew because the angel had told him. Repeatedly. Daily, even, and often times even more than that.





	I Just Want To Learn How To Somehow Be Loved Myself

**Author's Note:**

> i love how these things are either 600 words or 1200 words and there's no fucking in between

Sometimes when Crowley looked at Aziraphale, it felt like the world was shifting on its axis.

Sometimes the angel would smile in Crowley’s direction or run his fingers through the demon’s hair or kiss his cheek or  _ something,  _ and the world would tilt sideways, spinning around him like one of those godforsaken carnival rides, and leave Crowley dizzy and stumbling.

Because Aziraphale loved him.  _ Loved _ him. Like— _ really _ . Crowley. Him specifically, not the sort of holier-than-thou  _ love for all living things _ bullshit that angels usually spouted.

_ Aziraphale loved Crowley _ .

Crowley knew because the angel had  _ told him _ . Repeatedly. Daily, even, and often times even more than that.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said as Crowley woke up, his fingers already wound in the demon’s dark red hair, a gentle,  _ beautiful _ smile on his face. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Crowley grumbled, not yet able to form proper words, lazy and content as his angel ran his nails over his scalp.

It was easier in the mornings, before Crowley’s head got in the way. In the mornings, he was still so relaxed with sleep that his brain couldn’t panic and freeze and melt out of his ears whenever the angel would lean over and kiss Crowley’s forehead and whisper, “I love you,” before going back to his book. Everything was simpler in the mornings.

Of course, Aziraphale loved him. He’d said so the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and so many other days before  _ that _ . Of course, the angel would snuggle closer to Crowley as he read, they were  _ together _ , that’s what they  _ did _ .

It was when those mornings had passed, when Crowley was really awake, when all of his over-active synapses were firing, that things got  _ really  _ messy.

Because for all Crowley knew, logically, that Aziraphale loved him, he’d also lived for an entire  _ six fucking millennia  _ thinking that the angel either A) didn’t like him, B) simply thought of Crowley as his awkward rival-turned-best-friend and that’s  _ it _ , or C) was too afraid of Heaven to actually fucking  _ do anything _ about whatever feelings he may have had.

For  _ 6,000 years _ it’d been the same old song and dance (Crowley tempted, Aziraphale denied, Crowley tempted  _ again _ , Aziraphale acquiesced and didn’t seem all too upset about it) the same well-documented routine (Aziraphale wanted something, something like his coat cleaned or his favourite play to succeed or to not get decapitated or murdered by Nazis) and Crowley had gotten  _ used to it _ .

Don’t overstep, don’t go too fast, don’t push or pull or do anything more than saunter vaguely closer, bit by bit, year after  _ decade _ after  _ century _ after  _ millennia _ .

He knew how it  _ worked _ .

And then Aziraphale  _ flipped the bloody game board _ , tore up the rulebook, set the whole thing on fire, grabbed Crowley’s face in his hands as the two of them drove back to the bookshop after lunch at the Ritz, kissed him and kissed him and  _ kissed him _ .

Crowley was pretty sure he hadn’t had a coherent thought since.

And now,  _ now _ Aziraphale was just—just acting like they  _ were a couple _ , which they  _ were _ (miracle of bloody  _ fucking  _ miracles) but—

Something inside of Crowley hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo because when Crowley announced he was going out to pick up lunch—kebabs from a falafel truck down the street, his treat, don’t worry about it, angel, it’s no trouble—and Aziraphale called out “Love you, darling!” as the demon walked out the door, Crowley walked right into a lamp post.

Because  _ Aziraphale loved him _ .

Aziraphale loved him, and it was full of more joy, more peace, more patience, more kindness, more goodness, more faithfulness, more kindness, more  _ truth _ than anything else Crowley had ever felt.

Crowley was dizzy under the weight of it.

He smiled, patted the lamp post twice in as a sign of good faith, and headed down the street.

The world had shifted.

Crowley found he didn’t mind.

Not one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you thought!  
i almost had a fucking fistfight with my brother and i'm Upset so anything would make my day Marketably Better tbh


End file.
